Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Apparently when Liza wore shorts and a tee to bed she slept through the night, because that morning I’d woken up to my woman still in her clothes still on top of me. That meant I woke up hot—in more than one way.
At closer to fifty than forty I wasn’t over the hill, but I was beyond an age where I woke up with a raging hard-on ready to pound nails. But it would seem waking up with a gorgeous woman who smelled good and felt great on top of me was the antidote to my age-waning morning wood. The issue with that was, I had no way to alleviate the throbbing in my dick her presence caused. It hadn’t gotten any better when she’d woken up and nuzzled her face into the crook of my neck and muttered her good morning.
It wasn’t a good morning, though it would’ve been a great morning if we were home where I could’ve rolled her over or shifted her astride me. I wasn’t picky, either way would’ve worked as long as my dick was buried in her wet heat while she panted out the words I’d waited a long time to hear and she swallowed mine when I said them in return.
Obviously that hadn’t happened. And since we were guests in Allyson’s home, it hadn’t gone anywhere beyond a morning kiss that I ended when the throbbing in my dick turned into pulsing pain when Liza’s hand made its way into my boxers and circled my shaft, giving me a long, tight stroke. Any more than that and I would’ve forgotten my manners, so I rolled us out of bed and set her away from me.
Liza was not put off, what she was, was smug.
It was cute as all fuck and sexy as hell.
Thankfully, she’d taken pity on me and left to use the restroom but not before she leaned into me and kissed my t-shirt-covered chest.
That wasn’t cute or sexy, it was torture not tossing her back on the bed and giving in to what we both wanted.
It wasn’t the time or place.
Playtime would be when I got her home.
Hopefully this wouldn’t take more than a few days. I needed to find a time to look around the outbuildings and Tate’s house—Something I planned to do tonight during the candlelight vigil.
Now I was getting ready to leave Liza on the compound with Allyson and take the car into town. This was two-fold; I wanted another look around the coffee shop and with any luck the owner would be there. I wanted eyes on the woman. I wanted to get a feel for her and watch how she interacted with her staff and patrons. I also wanted to see who was coming and going but more, who was loitering.
Frank had already spent a few days sitting in the parking lot and had come up empty. Though as far as I was concerned that didn’t mean jackshit. I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if he sat in his car watching with binoculars, announcing he was law enforcement.
“Want anything while I’m out?” I asked when I entered the living room and found the women sitting at Allyson’s two-top bistro-style table off the kitchen.
“No thank you,” Allyson chirped.
My eyes skidded to Liza in the hopes she’d explain Allyson’s good mood.
She didn’t.
“No, honey, but thanks.”
I wasn’t big on women calling me pet names. Normally, I shut that shit down quick. It might’ve made me a dick but there had been a long stretch of time after I’d met Liza when I stopped giving women I spent the night with my real name. I’d gone by my initials for so many years while undercover, I became Tim. Besides my mother, Liza, and my colleagues no one called me Tucker. Since leaving the DEA, that had changed. I scraped off Tim and one-night stands. The only person who still called me Tim was Chelsea and I tolerated it only because I knew for her, that was who I was. Tim was the man who’d kept her safe while she waited for her man.
But no one but Liza had ever called me ‘honey’.
I liked how it sounded coming from her. And I liked that I’d not allowed anyone else to have it, making it all hers.
“Walk me out, Lizzy?”
She nodded, pushed out of her chair, and met me at the door.
“Later, Ally.”
“Bye, Tucker.”
I waited until we were by the CR-V to pull her in close and land a hot, wet, probably too indecent kiss on her. I let this go on for longer than I should, but fuck if I cared the neighbors might see and that I had a fifteen-minute trek to town to get my second hard-on of the morning to go down.
Liza’s eyes slowly opened as she mumbled, “What was that?”
“Payback.”
There was that sexy-as-all-get-out smirk again.
“Keep it up, baby. I’m keeping a running tab.”
“Is that so?” she cooed.
“As soon as we get this done,” I confirmed.
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed.
“Keep your phone on you.” I picked up her left hand and kissed her palm. “And don’t forget to put your watch on.”
Dylan was tracking our locations through our phones and our watches. It was unlikely she’d be separated from her phone but it made me feel better to have the added protection.
“And my button. I won’t forget.”
Yes, her button camera. The car, too, had been outfitted with a tracking device as well as cameras—front and back and side mirrors. Dylan and the ATF had the option to livestream using the car’s wi-fi.
I went in for another kiss, caught something out of the corner of my eye, and diverted my mouth to Liza’s ear to whisper, “We’re being watched,” while keeping my attention on the house two down from Allyson’s, where a dark-haired man had disappeared around the side.
Liza nuzzled in closer and wrapped her arms around me, providing me cover. To a passerby, we’d look like we were doing nothing more than standing in the driveway hugging. I gave it a minute then gave her a squeeze.
“He’s gone.”
“He?”
“Didn’t get a good look but I’d bet it was Tate.”
She nodded against my chest then pulled back but didn’t go far, just enough to tip her head back and give me her eyes.
No fear.
No trepidation.
No anxiety.
“I changed my mind. On your way back if it’s not too much trouble, I’ll take a chocolate chip latte.”
“Was gonna do that anyway, baby.”
She let out a sigh as she said, “You’re so good to me.”
On one hand I was pleased she thought so. On the other it fucked me she thought me swinging by a coffee shop to pick her up a coffee was being ‘good’ to her.
“If you think that, Lizzy, you got a lot to look forward to.”
I had her eyes so I watched them go soft. Now that pleased me with nothing fucking it up.
I was more than pleased when she kissed the underside of my jaw and urged. “Go so you can get back.”
Right. I had work to do, but the tickle up my spine was back. I didn’t like Tate sneaking around. I didn’t like what that could mean. I didn’t like leaving her alone and unprotected. That last part she wouldn’t be happy to know.
“Stay sharp.”
“Always.”
“Back in the house.”
“Bossy,” she muttered.
I didn’t respond, unless lifting a brow could be construed as a reply. I waited until she was back inside before I got into the CR-V and pulled out of the driveway, taking the long way around the loop.
No Tate.
Nothing out of ordinary, just a quiet neighborhood in the mountains.
But for some reason I couldn’t shake the itch.
I waited until I was back on the main road before I called Dylan. I got his voicemail, started to leave a message, but a call from Carter coming in had me disconnecting.
“I was just leaving a message for Dylan.”
“He’s on the phone with Greg. Told me to call you. What’s up?”
“Greg got anything new?”
“Greg’s frustrated. There’s a lot that’s not adding up and he’s not happy how the locals are handling the investigation. But bottom line, the case is there. He can’t pull the federal agent card and take over—it’s not illegal to make a firearm for personal use in the state of Tennessee, and right now, there’s no proof whoever pulled the trigger is manufacturing weapons. That’s not to say the locals haven’t welcomed the ATF’s presence or help. Greg and the lead on the case just have a difference of opinion on the speed in which things are getting done. Though Greg’s sole focus in on who killed Beatrice and how they got their hands on a 3D-printed gun. The local cop has a stack of other cases on his desk. So yesterday, Greg grabbed Frank and went back to the house where Beatrice was found to have another look around and reinterview neighbors, and he caught a break.”
Thank fuck.
“Yeah?”
“The homeowner three houses down from the house wasn’t home when the locals did their first sweep. He was home yesterday and he had a lot to say about the house and the day Beatrice was killed.”
“Tell me,” I urged.
“The guy told Greg he’d been complaining for months to the agency who handles the rental house Beatrice was done in. Cars parking in front of his house day and night. Now, it wasn’t the cars parking on the street that was the issue, it was trash and cigarette butts littered on the street and sidewalk. He also wasn’t a fan of the pickups with the cut-off mufflers rolling through late at night but it was mostly the trash. He got pissed and started keeping track of the cars—makes, models, and plate numbers. He also started getting nosy so he started taking walks and writing down the plates, makes, and models of the cars in front of the rental. That included across the street. The rental agency repeatedly told this guy it wasn’t their problem and unless he could prove it was visitors of the people who rented the home, to stop bothering them.”
“Please tell me he installed cameras.”
“He sure did.”
Hell yes.
“We know the name on the rental agreement is bogus.”
The name on the rental agreement was John Lane. The social matched the name, and since John Lane had good credit, the agency had readily rented the house. Our fake John Lane was smart enough to pay his rent on time—not giving the property management company a reason to make a negative report to a credit agency which could possibly alert the real John Lane someone was using his name and social to rent a house. Trey had alerted him though, and the man was pissed someone had stolen his identity.
“With the lab being a minimum of three months out running the prints collected from the house, Dylan’s going through the footage now, isolating images for the locals to take to the management company to see if they can ID the man who rented the house.”
Small town? Incompetence? Laziness? However that swung, they didn’t have a driver’s license on file.
“That’s good news,” I noted.
“Yeah, but there’s more. Trey’s running the plates. Got a hit on a car registered to Mackenzie Archer. Dylan ran facial rec on the footage the neighbor gave Greg. We got Mackenzie Archer at the house, repeatedly.”
I rolled to a stop at the T in the road, and while I was waiting for traffic to clear, I asked, “Was she there the day Beatrice was killed?”
“Coroner’s report says Beatrice was dead thirty hours before she got there. That puts time of death around two P.M. the day before. At twelve-twenty, Mackenzie and Beatrice enter the house together. At twelve-forty-two, Mackenzie leaves alone. Now here’s where we’re kinda fucked. There’s a dirt road behind the house. Not an alley as such. More of a firebreak, but definitely wide enough for a car or truck. The neighbor says they all use that lane to haul in firewood or haul out trash or to pull trailers back there to park in the back of the houses. He had no cameras back there. His concern was what was happening in front of his house.”
“And that fucks us how?”
“Mackenzie was the last person leaving that house. Whoever did Beatrice left through the back. And when I say Mackenzie was the last person to leave that house, I mean the last. After that, crickets. All traffic stopped. No one in. No one out. The neighbor thought John had gone on vacation.”
Well, fuck.
“Good and bad news is,” Carter continued. “Trey has twelve plates that have repeatedly visited the house. He’s running those first. One is Mackenzie, the rest are likely dealers, that’s the bad news. Good news is the locals will have names by this afternoon so they can knock on some doors.”
Eleven dealers pushing Mackenzie’s drugs was bad news.
“Her operation is bigger than we thought.”
“Yep.”
I was nearing the coffee shop when I told Carter, “Tonight’s the vigil for Beatrice. Any names on that list that’s connected to Nu Dawn can’t be approached.”
“Right. Are you planning on using the vigil as cover to get into Tate’s house?”
“Playing that by ear. I at least want to get a look at what’s in the sheds. There were a lot of cleaning solvents in the kitchen. Chemicals I was surprised to see since Nu Dawn is all about organic and saving the earth. Not sure lye is bad for the environment and it’s used to make soap, which they do in that space, but the camp stove fuel I saw stacked in the corner next to a five-gallon bucket of iodine crystals says something else. All we need is some ephedrine, paint thinner, brake fluid, some battery acid, and you’re cooking meth. Colleen told us Tate works on cars back there. Bet I find car batteries, brake fluid, antifreeze, and freon. She also said he keeps construction materials in one of the sheds. No one would question large amounts of paint thinner being stored. If I have time to get into his house I will, but getting eyes on the sheds is my priority. If they’re not storing materials here, we’ll need to regroup. It takes six to eight hours to cook meth, even if you’re good and know what you’re doing. You can’t rush the chemical process. Now that I’ve seen the kitchen, I’d be hard pressed to believe Mackenzie and Tate would have an uninterrupted six hours to set up, cook, then clean up without someone walking in on them. But they could be storing supplies here and taking them somewhere else as needed.”
“Be careful, they could be cooking in Tate’s house.”
They could be, but I didn’t think they were.
“I’m pulling into the coffee shop, but before I go, I’d like the images Dylan’s pulling from the footage.”
“You’ll have them as soon as he’s done,” he promised. “Were you calling to check in or did you need something?”
“I have a bad feeling.”
There was a beat of silence before Carter asked, “What kind of bad feeling?”
Carter Lenox was a former SEAL; he knew there were all kinds of bad feelings when on a mission. Some were worse than others. Some were nothing more than a tingling alerting you that danger was close. Some told you to get the fuck out. Mine was somewhere in the middle. And I couldn’t be certain what I was feeling wasn’t in part due to Liza being with me and my need to keep her safe.
“The kind that tells me that shit’s about to go sideways. Twice now I’ve caught a glimpse of a dark-haired man watching us. But only a glimpse because he ducks out of sight before I can catch his face.”
“Tate?”
“That’s my guess, but I don’t know what Tate looks like and as I said, the man’s quick to disappear before I get a look at him.”
“The description Allyson gave was dark hair, taller than you so over six-two, built, good-looking, with brown eyes,” Carter reminded me.
“All I got is dark hair and not short. At the distance he keeps I couldn’t say if he’s taller than I am and certainly not his eye color or if he’s good-looking. Could be I’m on edge because Liza’s with me,” I admitted.
Carter chewed on that a minute while I parked.
“We’ll get those images to you ASAP.”
“Thanks.”
“And, Tucker?”
Carter’s tone had turned sharp, deftly slipping from easygoing to operator.
“Yeah?”
“Trust your gut. If shit doesn’t feel right, grab Liza and get the fuck out. We’ll find another way.”
I wasn’t so sure Liza would feel the same way. She wanted this shut down as quickly as possible, freeing Allyson and the others to move on. The old band-aid trick only worked in certain situations and I didn’t think it was going to do much for the people of Nu Dawn.
“We’ll reassess after tonight.”
After another promise he’d get Dylan to text me the images as soon as he was done, Carter rang off. Instead of going inside the coffee shop, I called Liza to fill her in. Since she was with Allyson there was more listening than there were questions or comments so the conversation was short, informative, and to the point.
I sat there for a minute thinking about Carter, what he’d said, the friendship we’d forged. He was younger than me in years, but his time in service had made him wise beyond his years. Same with Trey, Matt, Luke, and Logan. The way Brady had grown up, I reckoned the trauma of that had him robbed him of a childhood and he’s always been an adult, so even though he was younger than I was, his demeanor was that of someone much older. Then there was Jason Walker, a close friend who did me a solid by hiring me when I left the DEA. I owed him more time than I’d given but he’d understand. They all would. Nick Clark especially; I doubted he’d be surprised when I handed in my resignation.
Liza’s old partner Steve popped into my head. The way Liza had told the story of Steve leaving his job to follow his wife Janis when she got a promotion. I wondered if he struggled with his decision, or like me, if he knew the tradeoff was worth it.
Leaving behind the friendships, the camaraderie, working with skilled and dedicated men and women would be easy. I’d miss it. But over the last two years I’d missed Liza more. So it wouldn’t be easy, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be hard leaving to be with her.
Wherever she needed me to be, I was there.
And if that meant quitting my job and moving with her to Virginia then that’s what was going to happen.
Easy.
With that I went into the coffee shop.